The Rawn Chronicles Book Four: The Dragon and the Daemon (The Rawn Chronicles Series 4)

by P D Ceanneir

  It was on one of these bridges that the heads of enemy nobles, Rogun, Falesti and others, were unceremoniously spiked onto thin wooden stakes. This view of partially decomposed skulls greeted Queen Bronwyn every morning when she woke in her locked room as guest of the young baron’s stone keep, a bulky square tower that sat in the centre of the town.

  ‘I would so love to see your pretty head on one of those spikes, my dear,’ said King Kasan on one of his many taunting visits to her room, ‘but alas I need you as a bargaining chip.’ He said this quietly and contemptuously as he looked out of the balcony window towards the bridge, where the decapitated heads sat in a row along it’s length. The queen certainly recognised a few Falesti thanes and one Atyd, in the shape of Sequilian of Wurel, amongst the grizzly remains. The Atyd had been captured only a few days ago as Klingspur’s forces breached part of the Eternal Forest’s defensive rim even though the Vallkytes had been effectively repulsed, with heavy losses on both sides.

  Kasan grimaced. That damn defensive rim was formidable! It totally encircled the forest, operated with redoubts and high archery platforms. Nethroin’s men had taken many casualties as he pushed his soldiers into supposed weak areas of the rim, but the Falesti were experts at fighting in their own terrain and would take to the trees to pick off any Vallkyte out in the open.

  ‘Who knows, maybe it will be your head on one when the day is out,’ said Bronwyn with an amused smile; the smile did not reach her eyes. She was afraid for her life, her people and family. King Kasan made her skin crawl, but he looked so much like Havoc, though more savage, shorter and wider in the shoulder, yet she often thought of the prince when she met his uncle.

  Kasan’s booming laugh echoed around the room.

  ‘Unlikely, my dear, unlikely! Soon I will have the complete surrender of your husband to lord Nethroin and the Eternal Forest will be mine to control.’

  ‘Barnum will never surrender the forest to you!’

  ‘Oh, but he will when I send the dragons flame to burn it down around his ears.’ He laughed at the sad look on her face, ‘Tyre is still young and his Wyrmfire does fail him at times, but he is persistent. It’s only a matter of time.’ It was true that the dragon showed promise, yet the loss of his rider was a serious setback as he was part of the way through a Bonding process with his new rider that took time and effort. The other problem was the Forest itself. The Falesti’s constant use of Earth Orrinns to manipulate their trees growth had inadvertently created another form of defence against the dragon’s aerial attack. King Kasan was sure that he had read somewhere, in the many extensive books on dragons, that these creatures were susceptible to certain harmonic frequencies in Earth Orrinns. This was probably why Tyre shied away from the edge of the forest and well out of range of his Wyrmfire. No amount of coercion would bring him closer to the treeline, so he scorched the marsh and stunted woodlands on its rim, but the flames never spread to the larger trees of the forest proper.

  Out of all the dragons that Lord Sernac brought into the world, only Basilica the Black grew quicker. Kasan made a mental note to send for him out of Dulan-Tiss as soon as possible. The problem was that the dragons were still too young to be of any benefit. He should have listened to Saltyn Ri’s advice and waited until the dragons reached their first stage of maturity.

  An urgent knock on her room door disturbed them. One of the king’s officers strode in and whispered something in his ear, the king’s smile dropped and he sent the man away with an impatient wave.

  ‘It seems I must discuss the Falesti role in the new order another time, my dear,’ he sighed, ‘now I must go and deal with my brother.’

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The Battle of Aquen

  The Twenty-first of Sin 3040 YOA

  T

  he Rogun army camped for the night as far into the Aquen border as was safe. It had taken five days to get this far and the slow moving host had made good time over the drove roads that ran throughout the land. They had passed the burnt-out ruins of Fort Curran on the third day and then taken a south-easterly route over the Chunla River, skirted the Old Woods to the north and then dropped into the low marshland of Aquen on the fifth day. King Vanduke was cautious of the Haplann Hills on his right, the forested slopes and rocky crags could hide a sizeable army and he would not put it past his brother to do just that.

  Seventeen thousand men trod the grassland flat as they marched behind him, five thousand of which were local Civil Militia; farmers and tradesmen whose families had fled from the advance of the Brethac Army and now found their bravery among the Rogun ranks. Two thousand Hurjunkan Warriors marched with the host. These big semi-naked men came from the coasts of Mubea and answered the call to war and the effective rattle of a money chest. They could have taken any side, but the chest of the Temperance League rattled the loudest. They were unruly and undisciplined, but the king needed their expertise with their whale harpoons in case a dragon should appear.

  The remaining ten thousand were Rogun soldiers, well-trained veterans and warriors of many battles. The king wished that his old friend Lord Rett were with him to advise him in this war, or even his sons, Havoc and Magnus. But the Raiders were still some days march from here and he was pleased to learn that Havoc was home, though was many miles away in Caphun. The king missed them all.

  Since the attempt on Queen Molna’s life, he had felt a strange sense of dread, equally shared with his wife. Molna had begged him to remain in Aln-Tiss and leave the Temperance League’s host in the command of Baron Langstroum, who was more than capable.

  ‘Shanks told me what happened in the dungeon’s cell,’ she had said on the night of his departure for the Pander Pass. She stood with a thin night robe wrapped around her half-naked body, still slightly damp from the bath they had shared. Vanduke was already dried and clothed ready for the long journey on horseback. He looked at his wife and wondered if he had time to ravish her again, but no, he was already late.

  ‘I see that there are no secrets when he’s around,’ sighed the king.

  ‘He is just as worried about you as I am,’ said Molna with a forceful tone. ‘The appearance of the Blacksword is a portent…’

  ‘Oh, come now! Stop pandering to gossip, woman! I only saw a vision inside the head of a mortal man facing death in corporeal form. Shanks...well…he…’

  ‘He saw him too. Do you think the Blacksword wishes you any harm?’

  ‘Nothing that is of my son can wish me harm, my dear.’

  ‘I would agree, but this is the Blacksword we speak of.’

  Vanduke silently regarded his wife. Molna tightened the belt of her robe as she approached him and then embraced him tightly.

  ‘Be careful, my love.’

  Vanduke stroked her hair, ‘I will, my beloved Molna,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘It is not like the last time. This time we are many, this time we are prepared.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  Vanduke hoped so too.

  As he left the city by the east gate with his honour guard of Carras Knights, the lone figure of Shanks confronted him.

  ‘I thought I would catch you here, sire,’ said the former baron, ‘I have been trying to find you all day.’

  Vanduke dismounted, ‘I had much to do; you should have sent word you wished to see me. I would have made time.’

  ‘I know.’ Shanks looked off across the plain to the lights of Barnstown in the distance as night fell.

  ‘You are worried about the Blacksword’s appearance?’ asked the king.

  Shanks shrugged, ‘I worry about a lot of things.’

  Vanduke nodded. ‘You, my friend, always strike me as someone who needs a task to attend to.’ He fished inside his tunic pocket as he said this and brought out a small mortis key. ‘This key opens one of the drawers of my study desk. In it is a letter to Molna with various instructions should the worst happen.’ He handed the key to Shanks, who took it wordlessly. ‘The next instruction I will give is one to you, Telmar. I
want you to look after Molna.’

  Shanks nodded, ‘I was always going to do that.’

  ‘And guide my son when he returns.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Vanduke smiled and shook the other man’s hand before mounting.

  ‘I should be going with you,’ said Shanks, who looked up at the king with a very sad expression.

  The king regarded his old friend for a while and then tapped the side of his head, ‘you have always been with me.’ He reined his horse around and trotted out of the gate.

  Shanks watched him disappear as the gates closed with an ominous clang, the key clutched tightly in his fist.

  Now, many days later, as the host of the Temperance League marched around the slopes of the Haplann Hills, the land rose to a slight ridge and flattened into a small plateau. At the centre of the plateau stood a ring of twelve lichen covered stones, the Ring of Port, part of the Ri Drift network. The host camped in the shadow of the tall monoliths and waited for the Brethac army to come from the town of Aquen.

  ‘Yes, but the prince left it in my charge!’ whined Chirn as he clutched the Horn of Relin to his chest. He was excited at first to see the dwarf, but losing the battle horn was too much to bear. He was, after all, still the De Proteous’s Standard Bearer. Gunach hardly recognised the youngster as he wandered into his tent. Characteristically for him, he had crept by the guards unseen in broad daylight and entered Chirn’s tent as he was shaving. The boy was now a man in his late teens and as tall as his father, though slimmer, with such little growth on his chin that Gunach wondered why he shaved at all.

  The dwarf had found Chirn’s Warband south of Tyrandur on a mission to bring supplies to the smaller outlying villages, a token of support from their new Overlord.

  Gunach nodded as if to a child. ‘I know, my lad, but the prince has asked me to take the Battle Horn and carry out an important mission.’ He held out his small pudgy hand.

  Chirn knew better than to argue with the Master Smith. He sighed and passed the small horn to him. The mother of pearl glinted in the light from the tent’s entrance flap. Gunach threw the gold cord strap over his shoulder and walked out of the door.

  ‘Your father will send a messenger to order you to march,’ said Gunach as he waved a hand and said goodbye.

  ‘But wait, Gunach!’ said Chirn, ‘where are you going, what is your mission?’

  ‘I’m going to see an old friend and hopefully wake her up.’

  King Vanduke’s spies and scouts had it wrong. The Brethac numbers were not equal to his own but outnumbered him two to one. The serried ranks came over the horizon at dawn in six tightly packed square formations known as Battles. Their plate armour, skillets and shields glinted in the morning sun. Two Regiments of cavalry, a thousand horses each, trotted in front of the infantry. Padded coats under the horse’s armour hung close to the ground and their head coverings shone silver in the sun. Each rider had a plumed helmet, sporting a variety of colours as they trotted in a straight line in front of the main host.

  King Vanduke judged the numbers from the many standards and pennants that flapped in the east wind. The Vallkyte infantry matched his own, though the Vallkyte and Wyani cavalry were a problem. He was glad he picked the high ground to make a stand.

  ‘King Kasan will just send his dragons to blast us from this plateau, sire,’ pointed out Dolment, the Master of Ifor, whose Lancers had been attached to the Rogun army since returning from Mad-gellan’s victory over Mad-borath in the Wildlands over a year ago now. They made up the bulk of the Rogun horse with the promise of more arriving from Sloe. It had only been a few days ago that the king had word of Prince Magnus, along with the Raiders and the Prince’s Legion, who were two days march away. The king could not wait for his numbers to swell, so he had set off with some impatience and hoped others would catch up or that Kasan would only block his route to Aquen town and not think to engage his host so quickly. He was wrong about that last part.

  ‘Not if our Hurjunkan friends have anything to do with it,’ said the king as he pointed to a group of the big dark-skinned warriors. The Hurjunkan had split into six separate groups and positioned themselves around the Rogun host. Each warrior had a hand-held Golas-type harpoon bow; the end of the three-foot long arrow bolt attached to winches on several two-wheeled carts by a long length of steel wire. The Hurjunkan had manoeuvred these carts into a half circle behind the host and rammed metal stakes into the ground at right angles to affix these portable winches into the ground.

  ‘You don’t think they actually plan on capturing a dragon, sire?’

  The king shrugged, ‘who knows? Luckily I have enough Rawn Masters to keep the damn thing occupied,’ he turned to the gathering army approaching from Aquen. ‘It’s my brother I’m more worried about.’

  Lord Rett felt every bump and jolt of the horse under him. If he was honest with himself, he was not fully fit to come on this mission, but he had insisted. There was no time to meditate and prepare, speed was of the essence and the prince had ordered a ride throughout the night. No one complained.

  The countess knew all of the seldom-used tracks through the Haplann Hills, they were narrow and often dangerous, but it shaved hours off the total trip. All two thousand three hundred and fifty six horses came through unscathed, although some of the older horses tired quickly and lagged behind; it was a miracle that the prince still had a large force in such a short time. Unfortunately, with the rising of the sun they still found themselves a long way away.

  Vanduke ordered his infantry to move down the slope of the plateau and engage the enemy. Five thousand Rogun spearmen stretched themselves out into three ranks with their long ash poles held at right angles, the other three thousand held back in reserve along with a contingent of longbow men from the Sky Mountains. This only left the king’s bodyguard of Carras Knights and their squires, plus one thousand Horsed Archers, along with five hundred of the heavy cavalry in the shape of the Ifor Lancers. On the plateau’s flanks, the king placed Rogun crossbowmen with the local Militia to watch the slopes of the hills.

  Kasan did as Vanduke had thought he would, he sent his Heavy Cavalry into the attack at the first available opportunity, hoping to swipe the Rogun foot soldiers from the battlefield. However, as the heavily armoured horse rumbled closer, the Rogun infantry levelled their spears and stood their ground at the base of the slope. The expected crunch of horseflesh and breaking spear shafts reverberated all around the grassland. A mess of hand-to-hand combat churned the front rank as the Roguns fought to hold their ground, the enemy cavalry continued their momentum, but eventually became hampered by the angle of the slope behind the Rogun infantry. Enemy archers took that moment to move to the flanks and fire a volley into the piling mass of Rogun foot soldiers that bunched to the rear. The Rogun right held as they discarded spears and used shields for defence, hacking at the enemy horse as they passed through them but the left crumpled and gave way to the pressure of the cavalry charge. Four hundred horses thundered up the slope and met Rogun longbow arrows, which stalled their attack as they fell and began to pile under the onslaught of the foot long shafts. The reserve line of Rogun infantry rushed forward to finish them off and moved down the slope in an attempt to strengthen the front line.

  Vanduke sent the deadly Horsed Archers to see off the enemy archers and they did this with accurate efficiency. Once they had sent the enemy back to their own lines they turned and attacked the rear of the Heavy Horse until they disengaged and dispersed to the flanks to reform.

  Now the way was clear for the Rogun Infantry to engage the enemy foot soldiers. They reformed their ranks, linking shields with a loud rattle and pressed forward, the ground was firm and ideal for purchase, a cool breeze dried the sweat from their brows under their domed helmets and the fresh air had a hint of spring warmth among the chill that came down from the frosted peaks of the Haplann Hills.

  The Brethac Infantry also linked shields but then broke into a slow jog, yelling as they ran. They
had to time their pace to keep the gaps in the shields as tight as possible before ramming into the wall of men in front of them. The smack of shields echoed over the battlefield and up the slope of the plateau. Men in the front wall yelled and jeered at their opponents while trying to cut them with their short swords over the rims of their shields or hamstring them from underneath. There were high-pitched screams as sharp blades found their targets.

  The battle continued like this for ten minutes until King Vanduke noticed that the enemy line was thinning and moving their men to the Rogun flanks.

  ‘They are trying the encircle us. Lord Dolment, take your squadrons down there and threaten their flanks. Stop them from closing around our men,’ he said pointing down the slope.

  ‘At once, sire,’ said Dolment, tightening his helmet’s chinstrap. He mounted his armour-clad steed and rode to the front of his men. He shouted back orders to those behind him, there was a loud cheer, and the Ifor Lancers raised their weapons and charged down the slope of the plateau.

  The five hundred split into two and went for the enemy flanks. Even encased in padding and plate-steel, the tall white chargers of Ifor produced amazing speed and stamina, they were greatly feared and respected by both sides. Each squadron hit the enemy at tremendous speed, shaving off men and forcing the flanks to bunch. Once they were through the enemy, the lancers discarded any broken lances used at the first run, unsheathed their sabres, and turned around in perfect formation to hit the enemy again from their rear.

  From the high vantage point on the plateau, Baron Andric, sitting crouched on his horse as he squinted at the battle unfolding before him, pointed in the general direction of the Vallkyte host. ‘Is it me, or does the enemy infantry look as if they are backing off?’